QUANTO AMORE SEI
Fandom: German National team
Pairing: Klinsmann/Loew, Klinsmann/Matthaeus
Disclaimer: I still don't know people mentioned in this story and I still hope it isn't true. The plot is still only my fantasy
Summary: Lothar is... well, studying.
Author's notes, previous chapters and music here
Timeline for the series is here
Quanto Amore Sei
So they’ve met, they’ve talked, he’s felt himself ridiculously happy because of it, the next four days he was not thinking about it. Absolutely not thinking. No way. Having a young and pretty lover definitely was a help there.
Now he’s finally given in to one of his guilty pleasures, his habit of remembering, analyzing every second to then store them all in his memory. Oh, the joys of loving…
He could have resisted the temptation much longer, but the lection was too boring, sitting behind closed doors when the sun was so bright outside was bordering on a crime, and he still was feeling himself ridiculously happy and not in any way ashamed about the fact. Joys of loving, indeed.
And so, instead of the tactical scheme Erich was drawing on the blackboard, he was analyzing completely different things. And much more important things, from his point of view at least.
The first moment he’s noticed his presence.
… Jürgen is standing at the staircase that is leading to guest tribunes, some steps lower than he is. Jürgen is wearing a black coat and no jacket underneath, and the contrast with the light blue shirt is stunning. There’s no scarf, the coat is unbuttoned, the shirt collar is open too, as if it’s too ho for him in here. No scarf – Jürgen dislikes scarfs, no tie. And his smile.
Oh, his smile.
And he freezes, drinking in the sight of Jürgen and wishing for time to stop.
- Lothar, I have a strong suspicion that you’re not listening to the word I’m saying.
- You’re wrong, dear Erich, you’re wrong. And if you need to get proof, I’ll be happy to repeat your last five sentences so you’ll know that I’m all attention.
Erich taps his temple with his finger and looks at him with a mix of surprise and annoyance.
- And you’ve just called me ‘dear’. And if I see this blank stare again…
- Just go ahead, Erich, Just go ahead.
Another annoyed look, and the droning continues.
… Jürgen comes up to him, smiling, laughing almost, reaching out to shake his hand.
- Long time no see, Lothar, - and whose fault is it anyway, wonders he idly, feeling warm suddenly and replying with the equally bright smile:
- Great to see you.
And it’s Jürgen who’s not letting go of his hand, not vice versa.
- Couldn’t have missed the celebrations. ‘Sono Interista’ and there’s nothing to be done about it, - and they laugh.
- You’re staying for the match?
- Sure, - and Jürgen is looking at him, and smiling, and still holding his hand. Is it wrong to feel so happy because of it? Sure it is. But what does he care?
- No, you’re not listening.
- Erich, dearest, the ‘diamond’ pattern in midfield is the most convenient and in most of the cases the only useful structure because of the built-in variability that goes…
Erich shakes his head.
- Just tell me, is being crazy the necessary condition to become a great player?
- Just go on, go on, I’m listening to every word you say.
The end of this brief conversation.
… They’re still laughing at the memory of Trapattoni’s outburst when Aldo Serena appears right behind Jürgen, unnoticed.
- Great to see you two, my dearest friends, such a long time since we’ve met!
- Aldo! – And Jürgen embraces the man tightly and switches to Italian language with ease. – I was hoping to see you here, and Beppe too, have you seen him already?
He shakes Aldo’s hand and sees them leave, and then Jürgen turns and sends him one more of his bright heartwarming smiles.
- See you later, Lothar.
- Am I saying something funny? – Erich is mightly annoyed, it seems.
- Oh my friend, what’s spring without smiles? And I understand pretty well that if number six and five are to switch places because of the three-to-four attack…
- You’re not fooling me, - mutters Erich under his breath.
The match itself.
… Jürgen is sitting at the neighboring tribune, and he can’t help but look from time to time. Jürgen is talking to people around. Laughing and chatting. Not paying much attention to the field, it seems. Jürgen is his own self – light, bright and in the centre of attention.
And then Jürgen disappears. He turns to look, and Jürgen is nowhere in sight. And suddenly the mood sinks, and participating in another animated conversation with ex-teammates is less interesting than watching the match.
And then Jürgen reappears again, right after the play has ended – they almost collide at the exit. And Jürgen blinds him with another smile, and shakes his hand again, and says only three words.
- Till next time.
- See you, - he answers, and they go their own ways.
And that’s all.
Except for the words that Jürgen said.
Till next time.
No. He’s not going there.
He’s absolutely not going there and not starting to hope and not thinking about next time.
- So that’ll be all, and I hope you’ve heard at least something that I’ve said.
- Not only I’ve heard, but I keep it in my memory, dear Erich.
- Whatever, - mutters Erich, bewildered.
- Oh don’t be so annoyed. Let’s have lunch.
- Ok, let’s go. And tell me now that we have time – how’s the things been lately?
- Well… You know I was in Milan for celebrations last week, and it was…
It was the best weekend he’s had this year. Though maybe next time…
He’s. Not. Thinking. About. It.